Ministry of Reconciliation
Write 31 Days, day 6
Today’s Prompt: Belong
Today, I wrote a brief reflection on the Trinity, inspired by the 15th century icon The Trinity by Andrei Rublev.
On a clear day, I saw them from a long way off. At first, I could barely make them out. From such a distance, I could not say whether there were three or one as they seemed to blend into one another. As I drew closer, they came into focus, the three seated around a small table. At first glance, I struggled to tell them apart; thankfully they each wore different robes.
Watching them kindled a longing I had never felt before. Intimacy flowed between them. There was no sense of posturing, no one-ups-man-ship. They genuinely delighted in being with one another. So often, with meetings of more than two, cliques begin to form. Two will buddy up tighter than the third. Not so here. They each reveled not only in the others, but even in the connection between the other two. I was seeing love embodied.
As I continued to gaze upon them from my safe distance, tears wet my cheeks. Never before had I witnessed something so beautiful. In that moment I beheld perfection. Oh, to be loved like that! To experience such divine intimacy. It touched upon every desire I had ever felt. Yet I remained outside, hidden.
I intended to sneak away quietly. To interrupt them would be to intrude upon perfection, and I was unwilling to disturb what they had with one another. As I raised up to leave, they looked my way. I expected irritation, but saw delight. I expected disappointment, but they exuded joy.
As one, they beckoned, “Come join us.”
“I couldn’t. I wouldn’t want to intrude,” but every part of me resisted my own words.
“We’ve been waiting for you. There is already a place at the table,” they said invitingly.
“But as I have watched you, I have witnessed perfection. I fear that if I join in, I will diminish perfection.”
“Friend, nothing you have ever done, thought, or said can diminish us. Rather, our love will envelop you. You belong. You have always belonged. You were created for no other purpose than to be in fellowship with us.”
And, hoping against hope, I took my seat and felt true love’s welcome.
I wanted to paint something that showed that divinity meets us in our everyday-ness in the Lord’s Supper, the wonder of the incarnation. The miracle of our salvation is remembered in common elements: bread and wine. Jesus said as as often as we eat this bread and drink this cup, we do it in remembrance of him.
Yesterday, I was returning home from Rice Lake, a weekly drive I have made hundreds of times over the past dozen years. Time and repetition have created familiarity. For all its seasonal changes, the contours of the landscape have become a part of me. Just north of Chippewa Falls, I always look at a certain field, a shallow bowl protected on two sides by a ridge of mixed hardwoods. I once saw a black bear sitting in that field eating corn. I have hoped to see him again, though I never have.
Further north, a horse farm is nestled in the hills. I often wonder, how many horses do they have? I have never been able to count, but each season, new foals join the group. They chase the older ones through the large pasture, sparsely dotted with large round bails.
I cross three rivers. Typically calm and unassuming, when bitter winter air presses down upon the water, they breathe blankets of fog into the atmosphere. Though a visible reminder of the cold, these low clouds are welcomed beauty.
Although I have come to love each of these scenes, they have been casual companions. Not so this barn; she has been a true friend. Whether driving north or south, I have always looked at her. On the rare occasion I have had others ride along with me, I have always pointed her out with fondness. My office wall features a watercolor I made of this barn. Though I never shared this with my wife, I once toyed with the idea of finding out if this homestead was for sale. Okay, more than once.
Yesterday, as I drove home, I saw a pillar of gray smoke rising through the raindrops. I suspected it was the burn pile that is often smoking in the afternoons. Yet, as I rounded a curve on 53 South, I saw what was left of the barn–my barn–smoldering on the ground. I knew it was coming. The house has been gone for several months, yet I was filled with sadness and a sense of loss. My old friend was no longer.
How does one develop a particular affection for something inanimate? Why had this barn, a skeleton really, had such a hold on me? Why this farm, and not another? I cannot truly say. Partly, I believe, it projected wisdom, strength, and beauty. It represented for me a lifelong love of farms, but more importantly, for the farmers I have known and loved–my grandfather Wilfred, my uncle Paul, my uncle John–many of them, like this barn, now passed on.
We don’t love generalities, we love specifics. We cannot love creation without recognizing that we live in a specific place. We cannot love humankind without loving particular people. We are embedded in specific families, communities, and cultures at a particular time in history. This farm has been a part of my story over the last dozen years and has been imprinted upon my heart. Other people and other places, some known only briefly and some known for a lifetime, also exist there. They are a part of me.
And so I say goodbye, old friend. Thank you for being an important part of my life.
Recently, while making up a song on the spot, my son asked me why I was so weird. I said, “I’m just expressing my #joy.” He said, “why must you express your joy so differently?”
I told him, “in a world filled with dandelions, I’m a balloon.”
I keep coming back to the questions, “What is freedom?” and “Do I live free?”
I am free.
I am free to tell people how much I value them.
I am free to speak out against injustice.
I am free to give lavishly.
I am free to err on the side of grace.
I am free from needing to demand my rights
or simply from the need to be right.
I am free to serve.
I am free from the need to identify ways in which I am better than others.
I am free from the pressure to perform.
I am free to be goofy.
I am free to like musicals more than football
or painting more than hunting.
I am free to rest.
I am free to take off my mask.
I am free to read from The Message.
I am free to sing at the top of my lungs in the shower
even Air Supply.
I am free to cross the party line.
I am free to drink a cup of coffee
I am free to not know something.
I am free to be curious and creative
I am free to be emotional
I am free to call it like I see it.
I am free to disagree.
I am free to cry at TV shows
even “Anne with an E.”
I am free to color outside the lines.
I am free to hold hands with my kids.
I am free to say no.
I am free to do what I want to do.
I am free.
Christ has set us free to live a free life. So take your stand! Never again let anyone put a harness of slavery on you.-Galatians 5:1, The Message
Where’s your red dot?
Winter birches, pen and wash, 2017